Harry Potters Twin Book Four

Stuck Behind A Fireplace

The Weasleys had invited Harry and I to the Quidditch World Cup this summer and we could hardly wait. One reason is because we finally get to leave the Dursleys and another reason is because we have never went to one of those before, and I would love to see how a professional Quidditch player flies.

By twelve o'clock, my school trunk was packed with my school things and all my most prized possessions - the Invisibility Cloak Harry and I had inherited from our father, the broomstick I had gotten from Sirius, the enchanted map of Hogwarts Harry and I had been given by Fred and George Weasley last year.

I double-checked every nook and cranny of my attick for forgotten spell books or quills.

The atmosphere inside number four, Privet Drive was extremely tense.

The imminent arrival at the house of an assortment of wizards was making the Dursleys uptight and irritable. Uncle Vernon had looked downright alarmed when Harry informed him that the Weasleys would be arriving at five o'clock the very next day.

"I hope you told them to dress properly, these people," he snarled at once. "I've seen the sort of stuff your lot wear. They'd better have the decency to put on normal clothes, that's all."

I felt a slight sense of excitement. I had rarely seen Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wearing anything that the Dursleys would call "normal." Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness. I wasn't bothered about what the neighbours would think, but I was excited to see the Dursley's expression when they seen how wizards really dress.

Uncle Vernon had put on his best suit. To some people, this might have looked like a gesture of welcome, but I knew it was because Uncle Vernon wanted to look impressive and intimidating.

Dudley, on the other hand, looked somehow diminished. This was not because the diet was at last taking effect, but due to fright. Dudley had emerged from his last encounter with a fully grown wizard with a curly pig's tail poking out of the seat of his trousers, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had had to pay for its removal at a private hospital in London. It wasn't altogether surprising, therefore, that Dudley kept running his hand nervously over his backside, and walking sideways from room to room, so as not to present the same target to the enemy.

Lunch was an almost silent meal. Dudley didn't even protest at the food (cottage cheese and grated celery). Aunt Petunia wasn't eating anything at all. Her arms were folded, her lips were pursed, and she seemed to be chewing her tongue, as though biting back the furious diatribe she longed to throw at Harry and I.

I spent most of the afternoon in my bedroom; I couldn't stand watching Aunt Petunia peer out through the net curtains every few seconds, as though there had been a warning about an escaped rhinoceros. Finally, at a quarter to five, I went back downstairs and into the living room the same time as Harry.

Aunt Petunia was compulsively straightening cushions. Uncle Vernon was pretending to read the paper, but his tiny eyes were not moving, and I was sure he was really listening with all his might for the sound of an approaching car. Dudley was crammed into an armchair, his porky hands beneath him, clamped firmly around his bottom. I couldn't take the tension; I left the room and went and sat on the stairs in the hall, my eyes on the clock nailed to the wall and my heart pumping fast from excitement and nerves.

But five o'clock came and then went.

Uncle Vernon, perspiring slightly in his suit, opened the front door, peered up and down the street, then withdrew his head quickly.

"They're late!" he snarled at me.

"I know," I said with a careless shrug. "Maybe the traffic's bad."